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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525086">Theme that goes like "na na na na na na"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyCharm/pseuds/unluckyCharm'>unluckyCharm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baking, Betsy's pre-game ritual??? BREADMAKING, Friendship, Gen, Listen to me.., You do Not need to know Betsy Lore to read!! I cover it in the fic!!, betsy's favorite food? apple pie. Mike's pre-game ritual? baking, listen., mike? once requested the team be the Seattle Bread bc he likes it so much, past bullying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:54:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyCharm/pseuds/unluckyCharm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots showcasing the friendship of Mike Townsend and Alternate Reality Betsy Trombone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mike Townsend &amp; Alternate Reality Betsy Trombone, Mike Townsend &amp; Betsy Trombone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Theme that goes like "na na na na na na"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Songs referenced are from <a href="https://thegarages.bandcamp.com/">The Garages bandcamp</a><br/>Tracks included, in order: mike townsend (is a disappointment), Underdog, a face to the name, mike townsend (is a credit to the team).</p><p>Betsy Trombone is simultaneously a person with a trombone instead of a head AND a "normal" looking person made of metal so if I talk about her eyes in every scene yes I did and no I didn't.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Garages huddle around the screen to see the alternate reality roster changes, watching player after player get sucked into portals and come back Different. The newscasters ramble about stat changes. Duende takes notes. Then, a change. A Pies member is swapped, but his portal suddenly begins to widen. Someone falls through, pushed by dozens of hands. Betsy Trombone is pulled in. This new Betsy Trombone stands up, angrily dusts off her leather jacket, yells something at where the portal used to be as her teammate backs away.</p><p>"Oh," New-But-Still-The-Same Monstera says. "Spitvalve."</p><p>The team turns to him. </p><p>"I didn't know them very well. The Pies hated her. Probably the worst pitcher in the league. Makes sense they would take advantage of this opportunity."</p><p>Mike very carefully does not look at the rest of his team. On the screen, Alternate Reality Betsy Trombone uses a switchblade to pick their brass teeth. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Because he has no sense of self-preservation, Mike approaches her during one of the pre-season parties. Betsy is leaning outside the Tastykake Stadium, unlit cigarette in hand. Their dead metal eyes meet his.</p><p>"What, you here to vape? Find another wall to lean on." </p><p>This was a terrible idea.</p><p>"I don't - no, I just - uh - I'm. Mike Townsend?" </p><p>She scoffs, but suddenly looks weary. </p><p>"God, was she friends with Everyone?" </p><p>"I don't know… I'm not sure I ever spoke to her."</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"I just. I heard you like breadmaking? And I like to bake before games so was wondering if maybe I could use the kitchens?"</p><p>There’s a kitchenette on the tour bus. He should just go back. It's a party, he doesn't even need to be baking. This was so - why did he think -</p><p>"Yeah, ok."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike goes to the Hangar early before their next game. He doesn't want to risk being late again when he's the one on the mound.</p><p>A motorcycle rumbles up behind him as he opens the gate. He turns to see Betsy Trombone pulling a blaseball cap out of their bag. He holds the gate open as she strides past.</p><p>"Where are the kitchens."</p><p>"Huh?" He watches them yank open the side door, then rushes to follow her. "Right, yeah, this way. We just installed new ovens, actually. Pretty exciting stuff. I was so torn but ultimately decided on a double wall of General Electric because they've been reliable for me in the past, plus the Sabbath mode is pretty useful for keeping things warm during… the… games….and. Uh."</p><p>Trombone is staring at him, their bowl and measuring cups already laid out on the counter.</p><p>"Ah. Sorry, I'm rambling! I'll get out of your way, if you need anything just ask! I'll - "</p><p>Trombone scowls, mumbles something.</p><p>"Uh. Pardon?"</p><p>Their glare hardens.</p><p>"I said. What. Kind of bread. Do you like."</p><p>"I - uh. Whole wheat? W-with seeds?"</p><p>She nods, turns back to the counter.</p><p>He slides out the door as she helps herself to their pantry.</p><p> </p><p>"Was that Spitvalve?"</p><p>"She wanted to use our kitchens before the game."</p><p>"Scary, isn't she? Heard they stabbed a guy!"</p><p>"O-oh?"</p><p>"Be careful not to get on their bad side, Townsend. Let us know when you fuck it up and need someone else to play ambassador!"</p><p>Lang Richardson laughs down the hallway. Mike watches them go. They mean well, he knows.</p><p> </p><p>On his way to the dugout, Mike finds the kitchens spotless and empty, like no one had been there at all - were it not for, wrapped on the counter, a loaf of whole wheat bread with his name on it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When The Garages end up with a last-minute layover in Philly on their way to Baltimore and decide to drive the rest of the way, the Pies loan them a bus. The whole team shows up to greet them. Trombone stands alone, off to the side. While Duende exchanges greetings with Sam Hinkie, she steps forward, to where Mike is wrestling with a zipper after taking an energy bar out of his carry-on.</p><p>"Townsend."</p><p>He flinches, fumbles his bag. </p><p>"Has to bend down and pick it up again, like nobody just saw him drop it!" someone hollers. He does just that. She glares over her shoulder until the singing trails off. When she turns back to look at him he's scowling at the ground, shoulders hunched.</p><p>"Y-Yeah?"</p><p>"I have. A better kitchen than the stadium. If you would like to bake there before games instead."</p><p>He glances nervously over her shoulder. She can feel her teammates watching their interaction. She scowls.</p><p>"As long as you leave everything clean. Don't fuck up my apartment."</p><p>His gaze flickers behind her again, turns thoughtful, though no less nervous. Is she bothering him? Should she -</p><p>“Um - uh! Thank you! I'll be sure to stop by!"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He shows up at her apartment with a bag of granny smith apples, after scouring fansites and interviews and hoping he wasn't about to get stabbed for the comparison to the Previous Betsy Trombone. If it's in her current bio it should be right, right?</p><p>They look thoughtfully at the bag as they let him in.</p><p>"Apple pie?"</p><p>He decides to pretend her tone is encouraging.</p><p>"Y-Yes! I heard. That you. Like…d it?"</p><p>She smiles, cautious but wide.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They're kneading dough in Betsy's apartment when an all-too-familiar song starts playing. Mike's floured hands twitch towards her radio involuntarily. He manages not to glance their way to see if they've noticed. They don't sing along to songs, seem to treat it as just background music for baking. As long as he doesn't draw any attention to it, maybe they'll never notice.</p><p>
  <em> The waterboy looks down on him, as he picks up the ball </em>
</p><p>"Hm. This tune sounds really familiar." </p><p>Fuck. <em> It's another awful day </em> indeed.</p><p>"Yeah,,, the Garages’ most popular single." </p><p>"Oh, really? I feel like I hear it a lot, but I'm not sure I ever paid any attention to the lyrics before."</p><p>
  <em> Our prodigal son, our shameful pitcher. </em>
</p><p>Great.</p><p>
  <em> Mike Townsend. </em>
</p><p>He presses hard into the dough, <em> in the same way, in the same place </em>, tries not to look up.</p><p>"This is…about you?" </p><p>
  <em> Every time </em>
</p><p>"Well. Yeah. I…uh. I…"</p><p>
  <em> Like an assh- </em>
</p><p>Trombone reaches across the counter and turns off the radio. Their hand, flour-stained, leaves imprints on the dial. She doesn't ask about it. He knows when he leaves they'll look it up. He turns the dough and finds he doesn't mind.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The Pies notice their "new" pitcher occasionally humming the Garages anthem for a few days, but whenever she notices what she is doing she immediately stops, frowns, and tries to switch the song to something else.</p><p> </p><p>"They asked me to help her with downloading things off bandcamp the other day" Nolanestophia Patterson whispurrs. "I told them the band would get more money if she waited to purchase until Urnsday… They thanked me for the info!"</p><p>Elvis Figueroa's current head hums thoughtfully. "Do you think she's warming up to us? Maybe she's the type that just seems unapproachable. Hard shell and gooey candy center."</p><p>She grimaces, slightly. "Well. I mean. She did stab the guy. That was a thing that happened. It might be. Hard shell with a knife inside. A sick knife! but still indeed a knife. I want to hang out with her but I am not going to get my hopes up."</p><p>Telephone leans in. </p><p>"They're friends with Townsend."</p><p>"What, really?"</p><p>"Their phone keeps pinging with texts from him. I've been tuning it out but I can tell it's mostly emojis."</p><p>Nolanestophia turns to peer at Betsy again.</p><p>"Maybe they wouldn't mind us befriending them. Should we invite her to play Lancer next time we have a session? The Other Betsy was never very interested but. They're different people, right? And it could at least show her we're interested!"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The morning the Pies land in Seattle, Mike walks into the Hangar kitchen to find Betsy already there, despite neither of them playing today. They're leaning against the counter, staring blankly at the cabinets.</p><p>"Oh! Uh! Good morning!"</p><p>She turns, seems to attempt a smile.</p><p>"Morning, Townsend. What were you going to make?"</p><p>"Croissants? If I laminate the dough today I can come in and finish them right before our game tomorrow."</p><p>"Mind if I join you?"</p><p>"F-Feel free!"</p><p>They double the recipe, work in tandem. He's taking a batch of dough out of the fridge when Betsy takes a deep breath.</p><p>"The Other Pies hated me." </p><p>He sets the dough on his counter, unwraps it as quietly as possible. Neither of them look up.</p><p>"I know everyone saw. That. I was pushed. And I know gossip spreads fast, so. You probably already knew. But. Um. It's hard. Being on a team and knowing they don't want you around, even when it might be your fault."</p><p>Her hands still.</p><p>"And it. Hurt."</p><p>She turns her dough.</p><p>"But I didn't know. It would hurt even more. To end up on a team that likes me, but looks just like the one that wanted me gone so badly they were willing to shove me through a portal, not knowing what would be on the other side."</p><p>He feels tears welling up, blinks them away.</p><p>"A team that cares about me, but every day I look at them and know that we are only a single step of reality away from them hating me in that same way, not knowing if one day I'll make one wrong move and set us back down that path."</p><p>Mike inhales, sharply. Opens his mouth to speak, but can't seem to find his voice. When he glances over, Trombone is watching, waiting patiently. He tries again.</p><p>"They don't - they don't understand how much worse it is, knowing you are surrounded by loving people who are fully capable of treating you like dirt, and have, in other circumstances. That everything IS good now, but you can't let go of what was antecedent."</p><p>She nods.</p><p>"And you know you don't need to be on edge anymore, or push them away, but. Isn't it safer?"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Ay Townsend, is that cold brew for me?"</p><p>Cedric Spliff is immediately playfully shoved aside by Farrell Seagull.</p><p>"Why would it be for you? You still haven't given him back that puzzle piece you took during game night! It's obviously for me."</p><p>"PIES ARE HERE!"</p><p>They all turn to look at the bus pulling up. Townsend takes the opportunity to head over. Seagull sighs dramatically.</p><p>"Noooo, of course, he got it for his new BFF…. SHE'S OUR RIVAL TODAY, TOWNSEND!! DON'T GET TOO SOFT!!"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike groans, flops bonelessly over their floured counter, careful not to actually land on her dough. "You have worse stats than me. And yet."</p><p>She smirks.</p><p>"I just glare at them. Doesn't matter how bad your pitch is if the batter is too scared to swing."</p><p>He tilts his head back to look at her.</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yeah. You couldn't pull it off, though. Not scary at All."</p><p>He laughs. </p><p>"Jerk!"</p><p>"I sure am! Now get off my counter, I'm gonna have to clean it again."</p><p>He attempts to brush off most of the flour now clinging to his shirt as she washes her hands. She clears her throat over the sound of the faucet.</p><p>"But. Um. The tactic hasn't really been working as much anymore. Seems people think I'm ""approachable"" or whatever, now that some dweeb has managed to befriend me."</p><p>Out of the corner of their eye, they can see the proud smile on his face.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Trombone glares uneasily at the crowd around her, her menacing aura thankfully making the other concertgoers give her a bit of space to breathe.</p><p>"Betsy! Hey! Why are you - what are you doing here? The Pies are still playing in Philly!"</p><p>She turns with a relieved smile.</p><p>"You're headlining tonight. I'll have to take a redeye but I wasn't going to miss it. And I'm not pitching tomorrow anyway."</p><p>His surprised grin falls the second he finally realizes what she's wearing.</p><p>"Where did you get that."</p><p>She opens her leather jacket wider to show off her limited edition "The Way Cooler Anyway Mike Townsend Solo Project" T-shirt.</p><p>"Oh, do you like it? Yeah, it's a pretty obscure band… you probably haven't heard of it… they ended up changing their name and then disbanding but… you know… Real Fans still - "</p><p>"You didn't even EXIST when I was in that band! Get rid of it!!"</p><p>She laughs along with him as he frantically tries to pull her jacket closed.</p><p>"I'm - heh - serious BT! Someone’s gonna see it! Burn it!"</p><p>They bat his flimsy semi-human arms away easily.</p><p>"Burn it?? I spent a Week on eblay hunting it down. I'm going to wear it Forever."</p><p>"A WEEK?"</p><p>He stops, pulls out his phone. "Wait. Who did you get it from. Do they have more of them??? BT stop laughing what's their username?"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Betsy drops their controller, throws herself facedown on her couch.</p><p>"How do you keep WINNING??"</p><p>Mike cackles next to her.</p><p>"I'm great at videogames. I've been to EVO."</p><p>They sigh loudly into the cushion.</p><p>"I'm too cool to know what that means."</p><p>"Ha! That's probably for the best. Another round?"</p><p>They turn, slightly, to glare up at him.</p><p>"……Hand me the controller."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike rubs his eyes, squints from the couch at the light turning on in the kitchen. Betsy is hunched over the counter, scribbling notes.</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>She jumps, moves to close the laptop next to her, stops, leaves it open.</p><p>"Ah. Sorry for waking you up. I didn't realize it would be that bright. I'm. Planning upgrades for my Lancer mecha."</p><p>"You play Lancer?"</p><p>He stands up to peer at their laptop, blanket wrapped around him like a cape.</p><p>"Most of the Pies have a campaign going. It's been." She smiles down at her paper. "Really nice."</p><p>"Oh, sick! The Garages have enough trouble finding times everyone is free for rehearsals; we absolutely don't have the schedules for a long-running game. Sounds like a lot of fun."</p><p>"It is. I'm… I'm really glad they're getting along with me."</p><p>"Well, you're pretty easy to get along with."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah, I mean. The knives? The motorcycle? You're Super approachable."</p><p>She laughs, writes another model option down as Townsend stumbles back to the couch. He lays down, still exhausted, their scratches of pencil against paper oddly soothing.</p><p>"Hey, Mike?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>"Getting thrown through that portal… was the best thing that ever happened to me."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Underdog comes on, Betsy wipes off her hands, turns the radio up as high as it can go. Mike grates more zucchini as he nods his head along.</p><p>"You like this one?"</p><p>"It has such Pies vibes! How can I not!"</p><p>He laughs, then narrows his eyes at the bag in her hands.</p><p>"Why do you have. Chocolate chips."</p><p>"To put in. The zucchini bread."</p><p>"That ruins the whole point of vegetable breads."</p><p>"It makes it taste better."</p><p>"It cancels out the healthy."</p><p>"This is dark chocolate."</p><p>"That doesn't -"</p><p>"HEYHEYHEY wait I love this part!"</p><p>She loops an arm over his shoulder, tipping the chocolate chips into the batter as she sings.</p><p>"<em> Maybe we'll lose! </em>"</p><p>He rolls his eyes, but joins in.</p><p>"<em> We got something to prove! </em>"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We're going to fight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah this dog's got a bite </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After the next game, Mike brings blueberry streusel muffins. Betsy waits for his teammates to get their share before coming up for her own. He takes his time picking one for them.</p><p>"Ok! It's a new recipe! Let me know what you think!</p><p>She takes a very serious bite, chews thoughtfully.</p><p>"Hm…… it's a total disgrace." </p><p>"Haha shut up!!"</p><p>Duende laughs along goodnaturedly. "Oh, so she can make jokes about it?"</p><p>Mike stiffens. Trombone, mouth full, can do nothing but loom menacingly behind him.</p><p>"Yeah. They can. Because she didn't write the song about me."</p><p>Duende puts his hands up, takes a step back.</p><p>"Alright, alright."</p><p>He waits, looks at the two of them. Betsy glares harder.</p><p>"That's fair!"</p><p>He carefully reaches for another muffin.</p><p>"These are. Uh. Really good, Mike."</p><p>"Y-You think so?"</p><p>"Yeah! They're always good. You outdid yourself this time."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Trombone takes another leather jacket out of their closet and hands it to Townsend, who pulls it on eagerly.</p><p>"Ah. You look like a poser, never mind." </p><p>"What?? I can pull off a leather jacket!" </p><p>"Great! So pull it off and give it back right now. You look like a hipster in an indie band." </p><p>"I AM a hipster in an indie band!! You're literally wearing my merch!!"</p><p>Betsy yanks on his sleeve. "I'm supporting my loser best friend. Take the jacket off."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They…lost? She huddles with her teammates, holds them through their tears, then lines up to shake hands and grabs Mike in a headlock when she gets to him in the row.</p><p>"Kicking us out of the playoffs first round you little twerp?"</p><p>He laughs. They jostle him harder.</p><p>"Oh yeah, laugh it up!"</p><p>They let him go, ruffle his hair. "You guys better make it all the way, then! Spies say -”</p><p>"Whoever loses to the eventual winners has the same rights to second place, yeah, yeah, I've seen that report too you sore loser."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When the Garages end up in partytime, Mike makes a beeline for Betsy, standing by the buffet with her teammates. She sways slightly when he runs up and collapses dramatically against her.</p><p>"BT…I am Exhausted."</p><p>She laughs. "Took you long enough to get here!"</p><p>The hum of the amps swell as the roadies finish setting up the Garages equipment on stage. Malik grabs the mic to announce they're taking song requests. As the music starts up, Trombone jostles Mikes arm.</p><p>"a face to the name!!!"</p><p>"Sometimes I think you know my bands songs better than I do."</p><p> </p><p>Several of the other Pies eventually disperse, to snack, to socialize, to party, but, until his set, Townsend and Trombone stand by the dessert table, screaming along.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tiana Cash was turned to ash, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And one day I might end up the same </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh well </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know the risks and I love this game </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The Pies crowd around the radio for the live report of blessings and decrees. They lean Jessica's peanut against the table, turn the volume up as high as they can.</p><p>"Nothing, nothing, Mutual Aid. Are we just getting a two percent boost this year?"</p><p>Betsy pats Benitez on the shoulder. "Better than nothing!"</p><p>"…and the Lottery Pick goes to the Seattle Garages…"</p><p>Betsy finds herself smiling, pulling out her phone to text Townsend. He'd been wanting this for so long… the pressure had really been getting to him. The radio crackles again.</p><p>"…Jaylen Hotdogfingers has been revived, replacing Mike Townsend…"</p><p>They still, thumb on the spacebar. They don't dare glance up and risk seeing the look of pity on any teammate’s face. </p><p>"BT…"</p><p>She stands, slowly, carefully, a strange weight in their chest. "Uh. Let me. Let me know if we end up winning anything. I'll see yous,, next season."</p><p>She drives home with her headphones in, vision clear only by merit of their lack of tear ducts. They close their eyes hard for just a moment at every stoplight.</p><p>
  <em> Mike Townsend was a credit to the team </em>
</p><p>She arrives home, starts baking thoughtlessly. Their phone vibrates, again, again, again. They shut it down, play music from her laptop instead.</p><p>
  <em> and if the gods survive is something only townsend knows </em>
</p><p>There's a knock at the door, then another. Again, again, again. She clenches her fist, goes to open it anyway. Their teammates mean well. They've all dealt with this kind of thing before, helped each other through Woods, through Bookbaby. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible to let them in.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> and I admit I got a little caught up, cause after all, you didn't disappoint me that much </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hey," says Mike Townsend, hand raised to knock again. "Got off the plane and realized you hadn't seen my text but. Ha. Too late at that point!" He wheels his suitcase into her living room, raising his voice to be heard through the wall. "I did it! I got Jaylen back it was batshit I will tell you All about it in a minute. And I got out! I'm still with the Garages but like. Not with the Garages? Anyway, I'm taking a splorts BREAK."</p><p>He wanders back through the doorway.</p><p>"Hope you're cool with a new roommate since you missed your chance to object when you didn't fuckin’ text me back during my entire five hour flight! And- " </p><p>Betsy hugs him, tight. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yeah, your redemption arc is coming up </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In my heart Mike Townsend is currently playing videogames on Betsy Trombones couch, all of blaseball wondering where he went, while his millions of twitch followers say "yeah idk he used to play a splort or something? wait his roommate is in the bg again spam the trombone emoji in chat."</p><p>Thank you for reading! And a HUGE thank you to my beta reader and favorite tacos fan, <a href="https://twitter.com/ollies_outies">@ollies_outies</a>!!!</p><p>I'm perdix on the discord!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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